Lattice Window
by Freaking Cage
Summary: As long as I can remember, I've thought my name was funny. Of course, I'm Lavi now, and have lived off the streets of Orleans since the age of fourteen. Just now I met a beautiful girl, and I have to say, life's never been quite like this. Lavilee, Yullen
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: If I owned -man, Lavi would be my Mary Sue.

* * *

As long as I can remember, I've thought my name was funny.

Not like a queer, strange name, I mean flat out drop to the floor hold your sides while crying laughing funny.

Don't get me wrong, my mother didn't feel the same way. I mean, after 40 hours of labor I think the woman can call the kid that pops out whatever the fuck she wants without having to be questioned about it. But I questioned her every day.

"Why?"

"I _liked _it." she grit her teeth in a way it made it feel like she liked it more than she did me.

"Why?"

"It sounds nice."

"Why?"

"I swear to God L--" she frowned harshly as I bit my tongue to keep from laughing at the near mention of my name. "Just stop. Don't be..." she paused, trying to think of something appropriate to let me know I was being a tiny little asshole, but not in a way that would crush my brittle self-esteem. "Don't be a pest."

She glared at me that way mother's do--that 'my God the sex wasn't nearly good enough for me to have gotten this out of the deal' combined with 'I love you'.

In my defense, I loved her too.

Just not enough to _not_ ridicule her choice of names.

Luckily, I never had any brothers or sisters, so I was the only one that had the unfortunate luck to be named by my mother.

I met my Pop once, and really, it wasn't under the best circumstances. I must have been fourteen, when I came home from after cutting school through the backyard. I did this thing where I would sneak in the house and scare the crap out of my mother. She was always hanging up laundry or in the kitchen, and one time I scared her so bad she cut off half her small finger. I don't think she ever really forgave me for that, but I stayed out of the kitchen for quite some time afterwards, so maybe it was worth it for her when mysteriously the food portions got bigger with my absence during preparation.

Anyways, I climbed over the fence--hopped really, I was a spry little tyke--and came in through the guest room window. We had this tiny house and so it was really more of a closet that had the unfortunate incident involving me and a jackhammer, but my Mom was a sturdy woman and never let a situation dictate her needs. The hole became a window, and that became my means of my life, believe it or not.

I looked around, but nothing was boiling in the kitchen and the laundry lines were absent of any bed sheets. I quirked my ears about, trying to find the direction of her padded shoes, and eventually heard some harsh whisperings coming from the front door. I smiled as I stared at her back, less than a few yards away and holding the door firmly with calloused hands and barely enough room to hold a foot in the space.

Although, there was one.

The whisperings sounded lethal--I knew, I was her son--from her and I stopped there. The wisps of her gray hair curled and stuck to the back of her neck, as her clenched hands caused mild dents in the old wood of the door.

"Let me in."

"_No_." my mom whispered and I could tell she was giving her 'fuck-off' face from the sound of her clenched teeth.

"It's time I came."

"_Get the hell away from my home._"

"Our home."

"Pop?" I voiced accidentally. My mom whipped her head around and stared at me with huge eyes, which really, I had been aiming to see, but not like this. I wasn't necessarily the cause of her fear, and this...

...Bothered me.

"My bo--"

"Don't say it!" she shouted, eyes clenched tightly shut. I never expected to see tears, and I saw none. Her frame shook and she tried to shut the door on his form, but now he seemed more determined.

"My boy!" he shouted, reaching through the door. I backed up instinctively, not a big fan of such fervor being directed at _me_. Oh sure, I'll dish out the random attack hugs and bear hugs, but it's different when the person wants to hug you back, when they wrap their arms around you and tug you forward, wanting you within _their_ grasp.

I'd never been a fan.

"It's me! It's papa!" My mom again tried to shove him out the door, but he was a tall fellow, and my mom just didn't have enough strength in those worn arms of hers to hold a desperate man from the light of his calling.

That poor woman.

He spoke to me like I was five, and at fourteen, I was a bit disgruntled. Not only do I have a man I've never met before calling me 'son', but now I have to listen to him speak to me as though I'm retarded.

However I was amused, and things went differently than one would normally expect of a young boy with a steadfastly, caring mother would--should--really.

I invited him in.

"Fuck Mom," I smiled, slipping my hands in my pockets. "Get the man a drink or something. You wouldn't think he was your husband."

My mother was shocked beyond words and the door flew open, releasing the man. He flew to me and took me in his arms.

"My boy! My _boy!" _he clasped me tightly and I continued to smile. Not happily, I wasn't happy, I was amused, and a young boy. I looked at the facial expression on my mom's face, and then I smiled happily. She looked at me with the saddest eyes I'd ever seen. Not sad for me, or even for herself, but just so pitiful it was sickening. The man continued to jostle me about as my mother stood by the open door, premature wrinkles settling in and hands that were red from all of her hard work down by her hips. Her mouth drooped downwards and I ignored the repetition of my gender being whispered in my ear.

She looked fucking beautiful, in that moment.

The next day, the man called my father was gone, and so was I. We didn't leave together, no, he left with some important belongings and gunned. I took a small rucksack filled with some personal shit, toothpaste and my favorite bandana and slipped from the guest room window.

I checked on my mom a few years later, and while I'll tell you more of that later, I just have to say right now that I was grinning like a fool when I saw she'd gotten some fugly looking mutt and named it Laibah.

Of course, that isn't my name anymore.

I'm Lavi now, and have lived off the streets of Orleans since that age of fourteen. Just now I met a beautiful girl, and I have to say, life's never been quite like this.

* * *

A/N: I have no idea. I'm so out of my element it's not even funny. I have no real experience with first POV, but I really wanted to try it so I am. I'd _really _appreciate any input you can give me as to what you thought of this. An, 'it was interesting', 'didn't quite grab me' or simply, 'I don't see this at all', I don't care. I need some sort of road stone, if you please.

But as for what I wish this story to become: I would like to turn this into a Romeo and Juliet-like tale. Slightly different, as Lavi's on the street, but there will be gangs involved, I promise you that. :D

As a note, Lavi's original name 'Laibah' is Arabic for 'Entertaining'. I thought it fit. :)

'Lattice windows' were the type of windows used (in China back during the really repressive days) in the women's chambers, when women stayed upstairs all day sewing and 'being worthless'. I don't know, sounded good at the time, but is subject to change. Anyways, hope you enjoyed!


	2. Chapter 2

As a child, loved the color red.

I had red everything. Every day I would go to school dressed looking like an Asian cherry, complete with sparkly, red ruby slippers Dorothy would claim to be hers. I had almost no other color in my wardrobe, and my room was so red you had to squint to see the differences in objects. Red on red on red...the housemaid refused to clean my room after a while, saying it was too hard on her old eyes. My parents indulged me however, and nothing could dissuade me from wearing that awful red hat that made my cheeks look rouged to a point of unnatural.

I loved red, until the day I saw my parents coated in it.

I don't remember the day, I only remember seeing the bodies on the ground. I must have been coming home from school, or a play date, however, it hardly matters now. If something like this did matter to me, I think I'd be a much more screwed up person than I am today.

I didn't do anything so dramatic as pass out. I didn't see black, I saw red. My favorite color dripping from the door, seeping from my father's open mouth, and my mother pooled in it to the point her skin looked dyed with the color.

I screamed, I cried, and I spewed snot everywhere. I was a young child, not a heroine, and so I sat on the floor and howled my lungs out to anything that might take pity on me and help.

The neighbor wasn't pleased.

"Would you--!" he burst in through the door and I only cried harder, shaking like a Tickle-Me-Elmo, without the humor. "Holy shit." he stared down at the dead bodies and I stared at him through my hazy vision. Anything that wasn't my parents, any excuse to look at something that didn't invoke so many feelings. He looked at me, and even so young I could tell there was no pity, no compassion.

Only fear.

He looked down nervously, as if he merely wanted to bolt. He had come to the wrong place at the wrong time and he knew it. He backed up a few steps, and then left.

I continued to cry.

The police came and took me away. I don't know if it was the neighbor who called or someone else, but I'm betting on someone else. I don't think he wanted anything to do with the situation, and I don't blame him. I didn't either. The police officers had faces, I'm sure, but I only remember their hands. Hands that reached out and held me, placed me in the arms of another, and another, and finally in the car. They took my own hands and squeezed, they were placed on my shoulders and rubbed comfortingly. They held out a chair, and they sat me in a room.

By the end of the day, I'm sure my eyes were as red as that room had been.

I remember Komui, curling me up in his arms, hardly letting me breathe from holding me, but that was okay. I didn't need air, I needed security.

Since that day, the color red has ceased to be what I loved, and only something I needed. I never wore red save for the clips in my hair. I couldn't see the color on myself truly, but it had been part of my life, my parents, and my memories. I could not go without it--it became part of my being.

Komui took me far away. We moved often. I don't know if it was because we both had itchy feet or if it was all a coincidence that he had so many job transfers to safer and safer places. I didn't mind.

But then something happened. Brother got a call from his boss, a serious call. I'd never really known what Komui had been doing, and though I would never be destined to find out, I knew on this day that it was something serious. Our things were packed immediately and we were shipped off to New Orleans. We rented a little apartment in the upper Ninth ward, right along the line of the Bywater, the only part of the Ninth Ward nearly untouched by Katrina. Komui didn't like me going out at night--he was scared someone would take me, or maybe he was afraid I'd find out what he was doing.

I wonder...maybe it didn't matter that Komui wanted to protect me. A want is only a desire. I think desires are merely smoke trailing up from a cigarette: they burn out quickly and often have a high price. Life, being among them.

I stopped loving the day of my parents' murders. It wasn't necessary anymore. I started needing--and yes, I too, wanted--but never loving. The closest thing I had to loving was him, my brother Komui, but even him I could not love. Somewhere in the deepest confines of my soul, I truly believed that if I loved him, or anyone, then they too would only end up covered in that color.

Red is for passion, red is for life, but red has never been my source of luck.

But of course, I just had to meet the boy with red hair, and he just had to grip my life by the strings. Some things are just predictable.

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A/N: Um,_ okay_ Lenalee. Oo;

I think she's OOC, but I'm going with it. I'm taking her personality from the beginning of the series, because that's the only time I really like her.

I'm hoping to make this somewhat short. Lavi and Lenalee will switch off in POV, and this will hopefully only be about 15 chapters, less if I can make it so. I have this unwritten decree that I would never write more than one multi-chaptered fic for any one series, but that's been blown out of the water. Damn Hoshino for making such wonderful characters.

Also, my true bitchiness as an author will really come into play here. When I stated 'tragedy', I meant it. There will be character death, and not so much of a happy ending. I say this now so you guys won't be disappointed, or at least too floored. I get a certain thrill out of making others' lives hell and this is no exception for my works. Oo;


	3. Chapter 3

She stood at the edge of the French Quarter, and I swear my heart dropped to the floor when I saw how that beautiful face stared out across the river.

She was an angel on earth, I was _convinced_.

Her eyes were half shut, the wind blowing directly in her face and sending her hair flying past her delicate shoulders. Her skin was a contradiction--a pale darkness with just a tad of rouge on her cheeks, perfect in its naturalness. Her lips were slightly open, tasting the fresh air that promised rain, and maybe even hoping it would come sooner.

She swallowed a breath and flicked those ebony orbs toward me.

I knew it was love.

-----

Yuu is the only guy I'd ever be caught dead with. And when I say dead, I mean that literally. There's a whole lot of death to consider out on the streets, and as such I would never die in front of someone I don't know. I can't say it's pride, but you never know what'll happen to your body, and with Yuu, I think I can readily say he'd throw me in the river first thing.

This is a good thing, I'll have you know.

I remember when I first met him, he was just this dude caked with dirt wandering the streets with a dagger in his hand. He was holding it peculiarly I noticed, as he would a sword, or some sort of precious family heirloom. I later found out he'd nabbed it from his would-be killer and stabbed the guy in the heart. He said he could feel the heart pulsing through the knife, and it was the closest thing to God he ever knew.

Anyway, I see this long haired _dude_ wandering the streets and I can't help but think 'Drag Queen prostitute'. I mean, no kidding, you'd have thought the same if you saw his scowling face and high posture. His hair was thick with grease and dirt, but damn if those Asians don't somehow overcome this and end up having gorgeous hair anyway.

I was new on the streets at that point, only a hatchling just left the nest and I didn't know a thing about discretion.

"Hiya ma'am, 's there any place I can sleep y'know? I dunno, where do hobos sleep nowadays, phone booths?"

I'm pretty sure he kicked me in the face. After I wiped off the blood he was still standing there, and I smiled, mostly from the shock of it.

He kicked me again. Several punches and laughing fits later, I learned how to dodge and he 'inadvertently' showed me a nice alley tucked away in the French Quarter, maybe a block or two from Coyote Ugly but miraculously undiscovered by many.

Yuu hated me to begin with, but partners are a must in the cold life of the homeless. So from the age of fourteen to twenty, we stuck together through thick and thin, and while I could never call us friends, the bond goes something deeper than that.

That day I met him in front of Southern Candymakers, home of the best pralines you ever set to taste, and as usual he was smoking a cigarette.

It always seemed weird for a guy like Yuu to smoke. I mean, the guy's in control of everything he does, and it's odd to think even he can't escape the clutches of nicotine. I had this whole theory you know, some philosophical bullshit on how maybe he thought the cigarette was the metaphor for his life and how he smoked it because you can only inhale life so much before it kills you, and I told him that too.

He stared me like there was a devil in my ear, and hey, for all I know there was. Lord knows I wouldn't have done half the shit I did unless there was something goading me on.

I took a deep breath as a white necked tourist opened the door to the small shop and smiled as the scent of chocolate and caramel filled my senses. There's something about that genuine sweet smell that just fills your pores like a blanket; lucky me, it never makes me hungry, but rather content to be alive. Yuu rolls his eyes and drops the smoke on the ground, not even bothering to crunch it into the ground with lingering disdain like he usually does. He's never had a thing for sweets, and I'd be baked to ever try and get him to try something. Granted I've been baked before, but that's another topic for another time.

"Buster." he sneers at me and I smile big and happy, just the way that pisses him off to take out another cigarette.

"Boo." We start walking down the street and his eyes flash around, not looking for anything or anyone, merely looking out and keeping busy. His long legs stretch out before him, his head high but shoulders tense. I wrap my arm around his shoulder just for some brotherly love and give a squeeze before he shoves me off--hard, of course.

I snatch back on him and he ignores it this time, lighting his cigarette and content to puff on it like a magic dragon.

"Yuu, you must know--" I take in a deep breath and recall her image to mind, once again forgetting to breathe as her white smile takes over the brilliance of the sun. Her shoulders were tucked into her body and her small waist sucked in with apprehension. She shouldn't have met me, I know this all too well, but it seemed neither of us were regretting it. Those eyes, blacker than the night sky with no moon were looking at me too, you see, and that was all I needed to know. "She's a beauty. A dark haired _beauty_."

"You on dope, motherfucker?" he growls, elbowing me in the side. I let go and walk before him, always a few steps ahead and hands out wide--I have a motto: treat everything the same way as how you'd like to die.

"No, but I am _trippin'_." I pull on my hair and turn back around, facing the same way as Yuu and walking alongside him, not even opening my eyes as I follow his footsteps. "She was so _beautiful_, just standing there and breathing! I looked into her eyes and man--I was the _one_. She was the _one_."

"You're a Goddamn moron."

"I am my friend, that I am, but can you deny my passion? Can you deny that my lack of coherence is due to something greater than ourselves, that worldly mystery known as 'love'?" He stares at me point blank, eyes blunter than a butter knife and stops in his tracks.

"I take that back. You're a _fucking_ moron."

"Fucking is better than fucked." I remind him, and he scoffs, turning at our point of destination.

We walked into a racy bar, the kind with smoke so thick you can hardly speak without coughing and with whores so skinny you hardly think you could get all the way through without breaking them. We sit down at the bar and Yuu orders a Guiness, telling the man to hurry with the snap of his fingers. I lean my head on the counter and sigh.

"She was a beautiful bird."

"Don't be a bunny." he mouths over his cigarette. He glares at me a moment before scoffing. "Such a boob. Bet she's jail bait."

"No worries man, the Big House won't hold me yet." Yuu exhales the smoke and stares at me nice and steady. The barkeep sets the pint before him and Yuu takes a generous sip. "'Sides," I grin, knowing he's gonna hurt me for this one. "It'd be worth it to get in those diapers."

The dagger swipes at my cheek and I dodge it easily. Yuu's a softie--never aiming for anything vital. It hardly makes it fun.

"Aw but Yuu, _seriously_, she was gorgeous. I looked at her and it was like I was experiencing everything I lacked in my life."

"You mean a life worth living?" he says quietly, staring into his mug.

"Exactly." I say dreamily.

He scoffs. "Hop-head."

"Gink."

"Christ, go dangle, would ya?" his eyebrows quirk down but he's still not looking at me. He hates looking at me while insulting me.

"Touchier than a Dick."

"Fuck your puns." he downs his beer and slams it on the bar. The keep gives him a refill without missing a beat, and I remember it's the only reason we go to this place.

"Yuu, I wanna _marry_ her." I looked up at the ceiling and smell the scent of the crusty bar, replacing it with imaginings of her hair, her neck, her breath, but I can feel Yuu staring at me all the while.

"You're fucking _serious_ aren't you?"

I look at him and nearly laugh at his expression. His eyes are bugged out and beyond outraged. Whether at the fact of me being a complete Cupid-struck fool or perhaps that I would even consider to break the bonds we formed on the street those six years ago, I won't know.

"You sick fuck."

I smile. "'Lenalee'. Isn't that a beautiful name?" I take a deep breath and ignore my lungs' need to gag at the scent of old vomit coming from the next seat over.

Yuu paused. "Say that again?"

"You need to ask? Lenalee Lenalee Lenalee, love of my life and mother of my children--"

"--Goddammit--"

"Future bride-of-mine and my new way of living--"

"She's a fucking LEE asshole! A LEE!" Yuu spins around to face me, eyebrows dangerously placed and lips nearly disappeared in a scowl. "You heard of the name? Komui Lee is the biggest Block Baller in this sick city! No fucking way you bone his sister!"

I stop as well. I knew that name. Hell, I nearly _worked_ for that name. Drugs are all part of the underground, and I won't lie to you when there was a time in my life when selling drugs seemed like a nice method to get some bank. An organization by the name of Black Order came out of a squabble with the original black market, and they now specialize in dealing drugs around the world, from the highest cities to the small town suburbs.

Komui Lee was a head officer, one quite well known for his methods.

"Shit." I hardly breathe. God has once again slammed his fist on my future, dooming me to spend forever wondering what happiness would taste like.

"'Fucking is better than fucked' eh? You just got two in one." Yuu takes another drink and I see his shoulders droop a bit. Either he's relieved, or empathizing. I could never tell the two apart with him. He shoves me to the side, glaring. "Forget about her."

But it was her image that refused to leave my mind.

* * *

A/N: Anybody interested in a Lavi Week? I heard there's to be another Yullen Week and admittedly I was kinda miffed and all, "What about The Lavi?"

Well first off about Kanda's cigarettes: I know you're wondering, how can a homeless person afford to buy cigarettes? He doesn't_ buy_ them. :D (He steals them, duh).

Note: A Black Baller is a big time drug dealer. :D

Also, Lavi and Lenalee's meeting scene? That will be shown throughout the story in small bits and pieces, probably in italics. Or heck, maybe I'll save it for the very end. This is a pretty trippy story, so I'm trying to be more original with it considering I'm already stealing the plot from good old Billy. :)

Also, I wanted this chapter to be focused on Lavi and Kanda to get you more familiar with Lavi (I really go on tangents with him--I don't know why), not to mention the two's relationship in general. As you see, it's comradery, not love or friendship.

Next chapter will be Lenalee and her beloved drug-dealing brother. I hope you look forward to it!


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